


Auribus Teneo Lupum

by littlecakes



Series: Lupum Est [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Priest Kink, Prostitution, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-07 06:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16848943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: Ravus, a priest with the Catholic Church, can't heart the voice of God like his fellow priests claim they do. Convinced he needs to sin and absolve them to hear the Word, he seeks out Ignis. Little does he know how far into the shadow of debauchery he can truly go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Auribus Teneo Lupum means "to hold a wolf by the ears."
> 
> This fic was inspired by the song Closer by Nine Inch Nails. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever-lovely [stopmopingstarthoping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping)!

Ravus takes his seat in the old, leather chair. Its seat is a vibrant, scarlet red; the rich hue imbues his mind with visions of blood, of the acrid aroma associated with it, and sends a shiver down his spine. He has sat in this chair thousands of times, but this shiver is always the same. There’s a weight that comes with this seat.

He would compare it to a throne from where he casts silent judgment, but if he did, he would be taking the significance of the solemn act performed in its seat. He would be spitting in the face of God.

And so he doesn’t. It’s just a chair, from which he wields no power, and only acts as a vessel from which his Lord’s words will spill from his lips. There is no sanguinity, no spite, only holy words for which there is no room for judgement. Pale, slender fingers close around his collar; suddenly it’s itchy, it’s closing on his throat and he wishes he could remove it. Unfortunately, the starched, white fabric feels more like a leash than an honor today.

The door on the other side of the booth opens with a quiet creaking that sounds more like a scream in the silent space. There’s a heavy clunk of boots on the carpet before the sound of knees hitting the floor. The man on the other side, whom Ravus can barely see through the wicker screen, has chosen to kneel facing him rather than take a passive position in the chair.

Ravus’ breath hitches and he coughs. “Peace be with you,” he says quietly.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” the man says, his rich, deep voice gravelly and cracking under the weight of his words. Ravus already knows this is his first confession either in a very long time, or ever. There’s fear in his voice, as if the man already knows he’s not speaking to a priest, rather using him as a mouthpiece to whisper to God himself. “It has been… it’s my first confession.”

“Tell me your sins, my child,” Ravus murmurs as he extracts his rosary from his pocket. The pearls are smooth and cold against his fingers. He wraps the cord around his finger until the smooth stones settle, pressed against the tender flesh. Their coldness quickly succumbs to the heat of his body and the cross rests against his cossack.

“Father, I…” the man begins, dropping his head until his chin rests against his breastbone. Ravus can see the brown locks, long and unkempt, trail around his face. He’s not supposed to look. The anonymity of the action is supposed to be sacred and safe, but the hypocrisy of the Church isn’t lost on Ravus. He can’t help but admire the loose brown hair which is so different from his; ivory, nearly white, and tied in a neat plait that grows long between his shoulder blades.

“Confess your sins, my son,” Ravus murmurs, leaning forward in his chair, resting his chin on his knuckles.

“I’m in love with another man,” he whispers.

The rosary tightens around his fingers.

“Tell me. Perhaps I can help you find peace.”

Ravus watches as the man shifts uncomfortably on the floor. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

A man, lithe and muscular, undulates on a pole. Nearly every inch of him is exposed, and every one of those olive-tanned inches makes Ravus quiver with anticipation. He can still feel the way those creamy thighs wrap around his middle, how the heat in between those thighs presses against his own. The memory is so vivid, so powerful, that it makes Ravus begin to stir beneath his garments.

After swallowing down the knot that’s formed in his throat, Ravus says, “Tell me more.”

“I think about him. Sometimes it’s when I’m just sitting at work with idle time. Other times… I think about him a lot late at night when I’m lying in bed.”

The pearls are coiled around his finger so tightly he cannot feel the tip; he can only see the swollen, purple flesh hiding between the white rings of pressure they make in his skin. The pulsations of pain that echo through the digit are supposed to remind him that he’s here to serve, that God is his master, not the hardening member under his garb, not the sin that seems to eat away at him, begging for more.

Begging for  _ him _ .

“And what do you think about? Perhaps it’s just a fraternal, brotherly love. Something you needn’t worry about,” Ravus says deliberately, gently, leading the man to say what Ravus wants to hear most.

“It’s not,” the man says quickly. “Definitely not.”

“Then what is it you think of?”

“I think about his body. It’s slim, slender… but he’s strong. I can see it in the way he moves. I think about  _ lying _ with him, father. Making love to him. It’s so tempting.”

Smooth, supple skin burns against his as they writhe together, bodies tangling, rubbing,  _ pleasuring _ each other. He’s delicate, yet strong, a force to be reckoned with as he lifts Ravus’ chin with his hand. Emerald green eyes pierce his very heart and shatter the careful wall he’s built inside, harboring himself and his devotion.

Ravus cannot forget those eyes.

“A sin indeed,” he whispers.

“What should I do, father?” the man says. His voice is breaking in sobs now; surely, he regrets the action.

“Why do you not just forget about him if you so regret your feelings?” Ravus asks.

“I… I love him. I  _ need _ him, father.”

Plush lips with a faint scar over the right side that travels across both vermilion zones press against his neck, against the hollow of his throat. Long, slender fingers press him down, down into the carpet until he’s on his knees. Eyes as green as sea glass peer down at him with wicked approval.

_ “You need me, don’t you, Ravus? Don’t you,  _ **_father_ ** _?” _

Ravus shakes and the hard cock trapped within his robes twitches. The man on the other side of the wicker screen looks up at Ravus, whose eyes drop to the rosary coiled around his finger like a boa constrictor. He doesn’t know how he can forgive this man.

He doesn’t know how he can forgive himself.

“Say ten Hail Mary’s and pray the rosary before you leave. Light a candle and pray,” Ravus said quickly, releasing the rosary from his hands and letting it pool in the plain black fabric of his cossack.

“Thank you, father,” the man says before leaving the booth.

The man leaves. Ravus listens carefully as the man’s heavy footfalls echo through the main hall of the church. The creak of ancient wood under body weight follows shortly thereafter. Ravus draws a deep breath, and listens closer. The years of service he’s dedicated to this place, to God himself, have gifted him with many things, and the knowledge of the sounds that fill the cavernous room has blessed him, for he knows it’s safe to drop to his knees and pray.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Ravus murmurs as he kneels, facing the blood-red leather. “It’s been a day since my last confession.”

Nothing. Always nothing. The other priests tell him they can hear whispers when they kneel for Him, when they submit to their lord and savior. Ravus has already given so much: his life, his will, and all of his love. There’s nothing more he has to offer, nothing more he claims for himself that he can offer to God himself.

So why won’t He speak? Why won’t He quell these wretched thoughts, these sins that flow through Ravuslike blood, that seem to pulse through his mind with every heartbeat? Ravus grips the edge of the chair, sinking his fingernails into the wrinkled, old leather.

“Please, God,” he chokes. “Hear me and listen. Bring me solace.”

Ravus quiets his mind, sets the thoughts of emeralds and pleas to the side, and waits. As practiced, he breathes deeply, exhales, and repeats, over and over. He lets himself succumb to the silence. It’s as if he’s dangling above a precipice and the rope is fraying; he’s been waiting for so long to drop into it and be graced with His wisdom.

A sound that’s frustrated and angry ripples from his throat like wake across a pond. Just as a body of water is disturbed, Ravus is too; his glassy, perfect facade has been altered irrevocably. Arousal is still hot on the heels of his frustrations and it chases him down. Its pace is slow and patient as it waits for Ravus to give in to sin and let go of the leash he binds himself with so willingly.

As much as he doesn’t want to, it fills the void he’s created so willingly to let God in. Where he’s empty, it seeps in like water through the cracks. He’s afraid he’ll drown in it, that sin will overtake him and he’ll lose his way, lose the progress he’s made. Ravus has been so careful to walk the path of righteousness and virtue.

Hands slide over his willing, naked form. Encapsulated in black leather, there are holes over the knuckles and they end just before the fingertips, allowing the creamy skin to dance across his own pale flesh. He can still remember their heat, remember the sweet words of praise punctuated by brutal, bruising touch.

The water’s warm as it caresses his thighs and grows ever higher. Its heat spreads from his bellybutton to his chest, leaving a lingering, longing feeling swelling there that Ravus can’t describe. Rising past his chin to his cheeks and ears, it soon engulfs the entirety of him.

He’s drowning in the arousal. There’s a flush in his cheeks as his erection strains against the fabric pulled tight across his bent knees. Ravus tilts his head back as his breath falls heavy from his lips.

Perhaps sin is what brings his people so close to God. Perhaps the others allow themselves the opportunity to lose the way and perform the rites of retribution. If sin is what will draw the blade across the rope and drop his form over the precipice into true, unhindered connection with the Lord…

He’ll do it. And he knows just where to go.

  
  
  


The heavy bass of the synth music pounds outside the door of the club. Ravus swears he can feel it vibrate in the soles of his boots as he stands across the street, watching the neon lights flicker and glow. He nervously adjusts the beanie he’s pulled over his stark white hair and feels its gentle waves caress the nape of his neck. He’s sporting a tweedy, long overcoat over his jeans and feels odd not wearing his priestly garb.

He’s travelled hours for this, taken the money out of his bank account, and packed all the necessities in the small leather bag tossed over his shoulder. The time taken to prepare and the act itself feels like a rite, and a sacreligious one at that. Each mile he’s travelled further from the church feels like a mile wandered further from His Grace.

Ravus needs to be here, though. He needs to wander from the flock and pay the wolf a visit. Perhaps he’ll have the answers he needs. If not…

He’ll confess tomorrow. He’ll confess  _ everything _ . If God won’t speak to him, then the least He can do is forgive him. Someone once told him it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

The bouncer at the door holds a clipboard and a pen. “Gonna need to see your ID,” he grunts. “And to check the bag.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket and hands his identification to the bouncer, who looks at it carefully and scrawls some information on his clipboard. The man takes his bag and gives him a number in exchange. Ravus knows the routine- they keep track of the members that visit this elusive club. He had to  _ know _ someone to get in and pass a health check.  _ For the safety of fellow patrons and employees _ , the website said. Ravus knows it’s a means of control.

The sex business isn’t unlike the Church in many ways.

Music assaults his senses from all directions. The heavy bass, the rhythmic synthetic melody to go with it, they inundate his brain and dull everything else. He can smell the cigarette smoke that wafts through the room; the sickening, bitter aroma burns his nostrils and makes him cringe. It’s disgusting, but he can’t judge. He’s disgusting in his own ways.

He goes to the bar and orders a glass of red wine as he purveys the crowd, patrons and prostitutes alike. There are many beautiful people in this room, all here to fulfill the same desires he is, but there’s only one that can help him. There’s only one that can ruin him and absolve him completely.

The man in question finds Ravus before Ravus finds him. There’s a gentle touch to his shoulder that quickly turns into fingers running down his spine through the cotton of his shirt. Ravus shivers and there’s a musical, salacious laugh that rings out over his shoulder. He turns to frown at the man, but he’s captured by jade eyes and beautiful scars.

“Ravus, so good to see you again,” he says with a smile. The scar that rips through both plush, pink planes of his lips stretches with the movement of his lips and Ravus watches it dance in his skin.

“Ignis,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue in reverent prayer.

There’s barely anything left to the imagination with Ignis’ outfit. Tight, black spandex shorts that shine blue in the neon lights of the club hug the curve of his ass and sit far below his belly button. His skin is the color of coffee with an abundance of cream and is just as sweet to the taste; Ravus remembers its delightful flavor as the man strokes his arm with just the tip of his fingers.

“See something you like?” He purrs.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, grabbing Ignis by the hip. The curve of his pelvic bone presses into his thumb, but his backside is soft and plush against Ravus’ palm. The dancer laughs in a hum that barely slips through perfect lips.

“I think you’re here for me,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in Ravus’ ear. His lips dance over the pale shell of it as he speaks. “You want to submit to me, want me to show you everything that’s wrong with you,” he continues.

Ravus’ breath falls from his lips with a shudder.

“You want me to forgive you,” Ignis whispers lasciviously.

Ravus hisses, turns his head away from Ignis as the dancer places his hand on Ravus’ chest, right over his heart.

“I’ll take that as a yes, darling.”

Ignis is always daring, always stepping outside of Ravus’ boundaries and pushing him. This is how it’s always been, and the priest wonders if this is how it’ll always be. Trapped in a vortex, he seems to circle Ignis like water down a drain. Whether he’ll slip and fall, succumb to the darkness waiting for him in the center, is always the question at the front of Ravus’ mind when he comes here to see him.

Then he wonders if he’ll be able to crawl back out.

“Are you ready now, or do you want to stay and play?” Ignis asks softly, touching Ravus’ cheek to draw his gaze back toward him. The smirk that’s playing on his face makes Ravus sick to his stomach. He wants to kiss those lips, feel them on his body, hear them whisper words of punishment and praise. He wants to burn alive for all the want that sears through him in that moment.

Ravus’ eyes dart back to the room and then return to Ignis’ lustful gaze.

“Ah, stay and play, I see.  _ Well. _ Why don’t you just make yourself comfortable, enjoy your drink, and come find me when you’re ready for your absolutions?”

“ _ Don’t call it that, _ ” Ravus hisses.

Ignis smiles at him with green eyes half-lidded in a show that makes Ravus’ cock twitch in his pants. He watches as the dancer walks away; those slender hips with their gentle curve sway as he moves like a sail in the wind, loose with inhibition and full of energy. Ravus says a silent prayer for mercy as he sits on a plush sofa in the corner of the room. It’s  _ his _ spot; there’s another sofa facing it just a few feet away, making this the perfect vantage point to indulge.

Deliverance is upon him as Ignis crosses the room toward him, holding the hand of a man whose eyes and mouth say everything. Heavy lids fall as the blue eyes below them watch Ignis move as closely as Ravus’ do, and his full lower lip is clutched between his teeth. Ignis guides him to the couch and subtly looks over his shoulder at Ravus as the man takes a seat.

This is a game they’ve played before. Ravus wants to indulge, wants to torture himself before he takes his pleasure. Wants to watch Ignis do what he does best, and lucky for him, Ignis loves to perform. The blonde is whispering to the man, kneeling at his feet with his arms draped across his lap.

The man shakes his head, raven hair gently moving across his forehead as he does so. Ravus can’t help but think that this one’s beautiful too, that he and Ignis will look so  _ pretty _ together. Maybe that’s what Ignis thought, as well; the priest can still remember the simmering heat in Ignis’ gaze as he glanced at him. His patron looks up at him and says something that Ravus can’t quite make out.

It’s apparent what he’s ordered when Ignis leans back on his heels and smiles alluringly. Ravus watches, enthralled, over the top of his wine glass as Ignis slides his hands up the man’s thighs, massaging him, before carefully undoing the button and fly of his trousers. Usually patrons aren’t so forward, they won’t ask for services to be displayed so publicly, but this place will allow it if they so desire. Tucked away in the corner like this, just the three of them, gives Ravus a sense of intimacy that makes him squirm in his seat.

Then the raven-haired man looks at him with heat in his cerulean blue eyes and Ravus knows that if the two were to compare preferences it would be like two sides of a coin. The priest immediately looks away to stare at the inside of his quickly draining glass as Ignis slides the man’s pants and underwear down his hips. Ravus’ attention is quickly recaptured when the man releases a little moan as Ignis captures the tip of his cock between his lips.

Most of the night is spent just watching Ignis. Dancing on the pole in the center of the room, grinding into other customers’ laps, doing the rounds, hunting down new money. The blonde is positively predatory in his pursuit. Each time he catches sight of purple and blue, emeralds latch onto him and the way they dazzle promises Ravus that Ignis has not forgotten him.

Each act is a part of the prologue in the little book of sin he’s writing tonight. Whether the ending will bring him his absolution is the true question. Ravus can only hope that he’s right as the lights dance over Ignis’ naked form and the priest loses himself a little more in every undulation of hips.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Ignis’ apartment is gorgeous. It’s obvious that he does very well at the club; the decoration is minimal, but every piece is well-made and carefully curated. Ravus has never been here before. The first time they… the first time Ravus procured services from Ignis, it was in a seedy motel just down the street from the club. He can still remember the scratchy carpet beneath his knees, can remember the wail of the wood as Ravus’ bindings stretched the railing of the headboard to its limit.

This is worse, somehow. It’s personal here. Ravus can see the dent in the couch cushion where Ignis probably sits every day. The kitchen smells faintly of coffee and spices - does he cook? Is Ignis a chef? Ravus is already asking questions he doesn’t want answers to. This isn’t supposed to be so intimate. Ravus stays quiet as he removes his shoes and deposits them by the door.

“The bedroom is this way,” Ignis says softly after watching Ravus take inventory of his space. “Follow me.”

Ignis’ street clothes are nothing like what he wears at the club. Heis dressed rather nicely; his periwinkle button-up and slacks are tailored to hug his body. Broad shoulders slope into a slender waist. There’s just the gentlest curve at Ignis’ hips that’s accentuated by the way those hips swing when he walks.

Ravus’ throat is suddenly dry, and he swallows thickly to abate the itching sensation. He  _ wants him _ , wants Ignis, and hates himself for how lustful he is. How much he wants Ignis to bury himself deep inside him, just to know what it feels like to be connected to him in that way. A bond deeper than that with God is one to be avoided, one to be ashamed of.

Obviously, his body doesn’t care much for God’s will or Ravus’ wishes as his cock begins to stir within the confines of his jeans.

“First of all,” Ignis says as he turns to face Ravus. He takes his pack from him gently and sets it on the floor, leaning it against the bed. “Safeword.”

Ravus scoffs at him. He doesn’t  _ want _ a safeword, he wants everything from Ignis. Maybe if Ignis pushes him past his limits he’ll finally hear that sweet voice and know he’s in God’s favor. Ignis gives him a pointed look with those dark eyes that send a shiver down Ravus’ spine. “Colors then, like last time,” he says, stalking across the room toward Ravus. “Red for stop, green for go. Yellow if you need me to take a step back.”

“Don’t need a safeword,” Ravus hisses.

Ignis rolls his eyes. “What, do you  _ want _ me to injure you?”

Ravus’ lips settle in a thin line.

Smiling softly, Ignis takes Ravus’ face in his hand, gripping him firmly by the chin, turning his face to look at him. “You want me to punish you for your desires,” he says darkly in a faint whisper. “You want me to beat the sin out of you like I did last time?”

Ravus nods curtly, and a little choking sound slips from his throat. Ignis steps forward, closing the distance between them. Though he’s shorter, Ravus still feels his stomach steel in that sense of submission at the sight of hisintimidating emerald gaze. He wants to give this man everything. Offer him his sin in hopes that he’ll drink it from him like communion wine.

Ignis smiles up at him in a tight-lipped grin that stirs something in Ravus’ guts. The man guides the priest’s face down for a kiss. It’s not soft or kind, rather, Ignis’ mouth is harsh on Ravus’. Teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip, pressing down until he can feel the little prickles of pain blossom beneath their unyielding force. Ignis releases flesh from his hold only to probe Ravus’ mouth with his tongue. A soft whimper slips from Ravus’ lips as the leather-gloved hand falls from his face.

“Get undressed,” Ignis commands. He turns to the chest sitting at the foot of his bed. “Don’t make me wait.”

Ravus shucks his jeans and underwear before stripping the jacket and shirt from his shoulders. He’s sitting down, wrestling his socks from his feet when Ignis turns with a length of rope in his hands and smiles down at the priest.

“You know, some might say you’re too pretty for the church,” Ignis says, “I want you to stay knelt like that for me for now.”

“Yes, master,” Ravus says, though his eyes glitter with petulant irritation over Ignis’ compliment.

“Don’t like to be called pretty? But you  _ are _ Ravus, you’re truly a sight,” Ignis says, lifting Ravus’ chin to expose the pale, silky column of his neck. Ignis sighs deeply. “Yes, so pretty. Many men probably find you appealing. Myself included. But tonight isn’t about showing you how pretty you are.”

A hand strikes his face in the blink of an eye. The blow isn’t too hard; it’s meant as more of a reminder of Ravus’ place, of his status right now as a filthy sinner. He wants to be struck, to be punished, until he’s atoned for every sinful thought. There’s a certain pleasure in the heat spreading on his face and the thought of the pink hue the back of Ignis’ hand must have brought.

“No, tonight is to show you how wretched you can truly be,” Ignis says, hooking a finger over Ravus’ bottom lip as he drags his hand down his face. A leather-clad finger slips between Ravus’ lips and presses down on his tongue. He eagerly closes his lips around the digit and sucks, cringing slightly at the flavor of the leather polish. Ignis only pushes it deeper into his mouth, smiling as Ravus slurps on his finger.

“Perhaps you want to be like this,” Ignis says, pushing another finger in Ravus’ mouth. “Perhaps this is more like yourself than the priesthood is. Servitude is all the same, but now you serve a different master, hmm?”

Ravus feels so exposed, crouched down naked like this, his manhood hanging between his legs for Ignis to see. His cock, half-hard already, twitches at the words. He wants to argue, but reminds himself that this isn’t the time to defend his devotion. It’s the time to give up to carnal desire in the hopes of more. In response, Ravus swirls his tongue around the digits as he closes his eyes.

“No no, look at me, love,” Ignis says, using the fingers in Ravus’ mouth to lift his face. He can already feel the heat in his cheeks building as his master looks down at him with a pleased smile. Slipping his fingers from Ravus’ lips, he says, “So sorry, but I’ll need these back if we’re to continue. Now, raise your hands for me.”

Ravus raises his arms above his head and sways a little in this awkward position. Ignis isn’t kind, either, as he ties the knots. He yanks on Ravus’ arms and nudges him with the toe of his shoe when he nearly tips over, a silent command him to sit up straighter. The loops slip over his wrists easily.

“Is that too tight?” Ignis asks after pulling the loops. The rope slides against his skin easily but doesn’t hurt.

“No.”

Ignis looks at him with a frown. “No, what?”

Ravus winces. “No, master.”

“Good. Now stand up for me, over here,” Ignis says, leading Ravus to the middle of the spacious bedroom. There’s a hook hanging from the ceiling on a chain. Ignis lowers it, hooking it around the firm knot between Ravus’ wrists, and raising it until Ravus cannot escape it. Thankfully, Ignis has given him enough leeway to be able to relax his knees and stand flat on his feet.

“Don’t lock your knees. You’ll pass out, and that won’t be fun for play, will it?” Ignis says.

“I’m not paying you for fun,” Ravus hisses.

“On the contrary. I’m going to have a delightful time.”

Ravus glowers at Ignis and he laughs.

“Oh, darling, it’s not often that my services are requested by such a beautiful creature. And one that wants the full show, no stops. It’s such a treat,” Ignis says, stroking his hands down the planes of Ravus’ chest. Ravus tries to fight the quiver that rockets through him just at the touch. It’s been months since he’s been touched like this, since the last time he needed Ignis, just as he does now. Ignis looks at him with a softened glance.

“Are you sure you want this?” Ignis says quietly. He rises onto his toes to touch Ravus’ face and kiss him. Ravus pulls his head back, but it’s too late, those plush lips have already connected with his. He hates himself for enjoying their softness, for kissing him back, for the jolt the tender kiss sends straight to his cock.

He wants so badly to say no, to ask for something else. Ravus wants Ignis buried deep inside him and to never stop. He wants to touch him, kiss him,  _ feel _ him in every sense of the word. Just this, a simple kiss, is a benediction. It fills the void and provides the connection he’s missing.

“Yes,” he chokes. “I  _ need _ this, Ignis.”

Ignis’ eyes linger on Ravus’ lips as he speaks. “Far be it for me to deny you what you  _ need _ ,” he says, his voice still carrying that softness it had before. “Let’s begin, then. I best not hear anything out of your mouth, unless it’s red or yellow.”

“Which tool, do you think, would carry blows of absolution best, Father?” Ignis asks he opens his trunk again. “The flogger?”

The black leather strands of the flogger have little metal D rings at their ends, which surely promise a bite with each blow. It’s too much to start, and Ravus won’t last long if they start with that. He shakes his head.

“I see. Maybe later. I can still see that hungry look in your eyes,” Ignis says teasingly, which Ravus responds to with a snort. A metal chain dangles from Ignis’ finger. The clamps on the end make Ravus swallow thickly. “The clamps?”

Ravus nods and Ignis smiles. “A good start,” Ignis says as he loosens the clamps. “Oh, this won’t do, will it?” he asks as he caresses the pale skin of a pectoral. Ravus’ nipples aren’t hard, and he can’t exactly will them to firm peaks. Ignis bends over to take one in his mouth, gripping it lightly with his teeth as he sucks on it. 

Ravus drops his head between his shoulders as he bites a lip to stay quiet. Nevermind that he’s touch starved, he’s convinced that this would drive anyone crazy. Ignis chuckles darkly before applying the clamp, twisting the screw on the side before giving the chain a firm tug. Ravus groans with the pleasure and the pain.

“Quiet,” Ignis commands, giving the chain another, harder tug. Ravus’ cock rises to attention quickly between his legs, jumping as Ignis closes his lips around the other nipple and bites down a little harder this time. Breaths come in short and sharp as Ravus breathes through the stimulation.

“You’re already doing a fine job, pet,” Ignis purrs as he tightens the second clamp. Another tug brings a sharp pain to both nipples and Ravus closes his eyes tight.

“I need you to look over here. Show me what you want, and remember, no talking.” He holds up a riding crop. The leather tip is long and narrow, promising sharp blows to his skin. Ignis takes a firm grip on the handle before bringing it down on his palm with a satisfying snap. Ravus nods eagerly, to which Ignis responds with a dark look and matching smile.

“To start?” Ignis asks coyly. He snaps the tress against the palm of his hand again as his verdant gaze lingers on Ravus’ face. A sharp inhale punctuates the still air and brings a smile to the blond’s face. “Lovely.”

The leather is cool when it makes contact with Ravus’ alabaster skin. Ignis touches his face with it, drawing his gaze from the left to the right, smiling as he admires the flush on his pale cheeks. He trails it down the side of his neck, tracing the defined collarbones and swoops of his pectorals before travelling down his sensitive sides. Ravus’ breath hitches as the tress caresses his body.

“Do you like that, pet? Does it feel good? The leather is so soft, isn’t it?” Ignis asks. Ravus closes his eyes tight and braces for impact. “No, no, relax. Let the pain speak to you. It will sing for you, if you let it.”

Ignis punctuates his statement with a quick snap at Ravus’ back. Ravuscan no longer see Ignis, only hear his feet padding on the hardwood floor behind him. Ravus twists his neck, swiveling on the chain, trying to see his master. His action is punished with a sharp snap to the sensitive flesh of his thigh. Ravus cries out and Ignis hits him again.

“ _ Behave _ . Hold still and don’t make a sound.”

“I-”

_ Crack. _

Ravus trembles and the chain jingles overhead as Ignis hits him several times more, peppering the strikes over the sensitive skin of his thighs. Unlike the warm-up he’s supposed to receive, these are painful, hard strikes. Punishment for his disobedience. He can feel the heat pooling in his loins as he bites his lip, holding back his moans.

“Now, I would  _ like _ to warm you up properly, if you’ll quit misbehaving, Father. Will you let me?”

Ravus nods eagerly. Ignis comes into view again and leather caresses heated, ivory cheeks. The priest winces as Ignis touches him.

“I want to do what you’ve asked, but I cannot if you don’t behave, pet,” Ignis says, his voice commanding, yet soft. “Neither of us will enjoy it if you cannot do that for me. Now, I promise, I will beat you within your limits, but I will not do so until you contain yourself. You may speak. Beg me for my forgiveness.”

“I’m sorry, Master. Forgive me,” Ravus chokes, straining on his bindings.

Ignis narrows his eyes as he looks at him, and slaps him before he has the chance to shy away. The black leather stings on his skin; it’s an unforgiving strike. A punishment. The hand lingers on his reddened cheek, stroking the rouged flesh until it no longer burns.

“You’re forgiven, pet.”

The kiss following is perhaps more of a punishment. It’s soft and lingering. Ravus can taste the mint of Ignis’ lip balm, sweet and alluring, as well as the wine on his breath from his shift at the club. He wants more of them and hates himself for how much he desires the feeling of Ignis’ flesh on his own. Ravus could linger on those sweet, scarred lips forever, simply feeling them against his own, experiencing their heat, their plumpness. He thinks himself some kind of crude glutton.

Ignis pulls away from him with a salacious smile before stalking behind him. Ravus hears leather collide with flesh - surely Ignis is teasing him now, purely with the sound of it hitting his palm - before it strikes his own skin. The strikes are slow and soft at first, peppering his backside. Slowly, his skin warms and by the time he knows it must be bright pink, Ignis is striking him harder.

The priest’s head dips forward, his chin touching his clavicle, as he bites his lip and steels himself. The longer the beating goes on, the more overwhelmed his senses are. All he can feel is his stinging, burning flesh; all he can hear is the sound of the leather tress colliding with his inflamed skin. He can taste blood in his mouth; has he been biting his tongue this whole time? The flavor of discipline, of submissiveness, is copper and tangy.

Ravus knows he’s losing himself. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since Ignis started. He lost count of the strikes long ago; the priest was hoping to keep track in order to share it in his confession. To show God just how many times he ached for his sins. Perhaps it’s not repentance, not anymore. He feels the longing in his heart for every crack of the crop against his skin, feels the blood pulse in his painfully hard cock with every sting.

Has he truly wandered so far from God? Ravus closes his eyes and breathes deeply, drawing himself away from the pain, into a place of silent meditation. It’s almost easier to get here with the blows raining on his backside. Somehow, the ache of his physical body draws him further into his mind. There’s nothing here.

It’s silent.

The pain he feels in his heart for his failure is ten thousand times worset han the pain cascading through his skin like the tide on a shore. Much like the predictability of the ocean’s waves, he can place his faith in Ignis. He can rely on him to bring him here, unlike the voice of God. Ravus is sure that he will never hear Him now that he has delved so far into the abyss of sin. There’s no hope left.

A moment, a minute, an hour - Ravus isn’t sure how long it’s taken, time is no longer a concept he’s aware of - and he realizes the blows have stopped. There’s wetness on his cheeks and he’s not sure where it’s come from. Breaths fall short and staggered from his lips as he tries to contain himself.

“Color,” Ignis says, still out of his view. “You stopped breathing, Ravus. Tell me your color.”

“Green,” He sobs.

Ignis returns to Ravus’ view. The priest turns his head away from Ignis. He doesn’t want to see Ignis. He doesn’t want Ignis to see him, either. It’s not supposed to  _ be  _ like this; the beating was supposed to absolve him, bring him to His grace, where Ravus could fall to his knees to beg Him for forgiveness and hear that sweet voice he’s been promised for so long. Instead, his cock aches between his thighs and his mind remains as quiet as ever.

It’s not supposed to be this intimate. Not with another person. But Ravus dares to look at Ignis and cannot tear himself away from the soft concern in those emerald irises, or the sad smile twisting his imperfect, beautiful lips. He can’t stop imagining the way he wishes to worship that beautiful face, be touched by those hands, or experience the feeling of that body resting heavy between his thighs.

“Are you sure?” Ignis asks quietly. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t hear Him,” Ravus chokes. “He’s not there. All these years.”

“I think we’re done,” Ignis says softly. His voice is kind and forgiving. “You did so well, darling. You performed your absolutions perfectly.”

“Ignis…”

Ignis steps closer, drawing his hands around Ravus’ waist, holding the man in his arms. Ravus drops his head to Ignis’ shoulder as he sags in his bindings. There’s a screaming ache in his arms that he can feel now that worsens as he falls slack against him, but the smaller man holds him up, supporting his weight.

“If you’ll stand up one more time for me, pet, I’ll unbind you and we can take care of the pain,” Ignis says after a few quiet minutes.

Ravus draws a shaky breath and stands, flat on his feet, using the last of his strength to hold himself up while Ignis loosens the chain around his bindings and unties the knot. Guiding him to the foot of the bed, Ignis sits Ravus down and takes his hands in his. The priest automatically yanks his hands away.

“What… what are you doing?” he hisses.

Ignis smiles gently. “I’m taking care of you.”

“Don’t,” Ravus starts, but falls short.

“Are you sure? You can leave like this, if you like.”

Ravus drops his eyes to the stark, red lines etched in his skin from the rope. His hands ache and tingle. He tells himself that he deserves this, that this is God’s will for him to hurt and ache and suffer for his atrocities. There’s nothing more for him than pain surely brought by God’s wrath.

Damn him if he can’t accept it. To offer any more of himself to a god who won’t speak to him is torture. To ask Ignis for this simple kindness is too much. It’s admitting defeat and accepting that God has forsaken him. Every kiss, every touch, every lingering stare has damned him. Is it too late for him to reach his heavenly father? It very well may be. Ravus is less alarmed than he thought he would be; perhaps it’s the beautiful man kneeling before him, worshipping his sacrifices so reverently, that draws him to accept Ignis’ affections.

Instead, he leaves his wrists in Ignis’ hands. Trembling, he grasps Ignis’ forearms, holding onto them firmly. Smooth, warm skin feels sublime. He’s never touched like this before, been touched like this before, so candidly, so softly. Every embrace they’ve shared before has been a punishment, a sacrifice. Ravus had never allowed himself the safety and comfort of aftercare before. It wounds Ravus deeply to know that such tenderness could be shared and experienced. It’s the final blow, hearing his heart speak louder to him now than God ever has.

Ravus releases a shaky breath before looking at his dom. He finds a surprising softness there in Ignis’ eyes. Emeralds twinkle at him from their depths before the dancer offers him a smile. He’s sure it’s not meant to be inviting, but the delicate arch of vermilion draws Ravus ever deeper into the swirling vortex.

Ravus nods, accepting Ignis’ kindnesses, signing his own resignation, making his death warrant. He’ll drown, he’s sure of it, in this delicious whirlpool, with its velvet-soft skin and equally beautiful words. Ignis rubs his thumb into the inside of Ravus’ wrist, dipping into the sulci cradling his artery, as he whispers, “You’ll stay, won’t you?”

“How much?” Ravus asks, his voice cracking.

Ignis furrows his brow as he removes the clamps from Ravus’ nipples. “What?”

“How much for me to stay the night.”

Still kneeling at his feet, Ignis slots between Ravus’ knees, much like he did with the patron he’d been with earlier that evening. Ignis doesn’t spread himself across Ravus’ lap like he had with the raven-haired man earlier; instead, he cradles the priest’s hands, palm-up, and tenderly kisses the fleshy joints of his thumbs in silent worship.

“Consider it pro bono.”

Ravus opens his mouth to argue, but Ignis cranes his neck upward and kisses him insistently until he falls silent. “In most circumstances, I would ask for payment, yes, but I’ve been hoping,  _ praying _ , as it were,” Ignis adds with a demure grin, “that you would come back to the club. Your presence is a gift I intend to enjoy for myself. Fully. After services paid for are rendered, of course.”

“So you’re saying…”

“Stay with me, tonight,” Ignis says, stretching his spine and resting his forearms on Ravus’ pale thighs. “Stay here and let me show you everything you’ve been missing. Let me make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

“Ignis,” Ravus argues, but falls short. He wants this  _ so _ badly, to see, feel, touch, taste the man kneeling before him who’s offering himself so candidly. Perhaps Ravus is a little jealous for how freely Ignis can express himself, can love wholly, can use his body however he sees fit. Flashbacks from the evening fill his mind: Ignis wrapping himself around a pole, dancing freely, wrapping his sumptuous lips around that cock, making him kneel.

It rocks Ravus to his core, shatters his beliefs, when he thinks about how much he wants such freedoms for himself.

Saying nothing, he bends over and kisses Ignis, touching his face, running his thumb over the little scar that pockmarks his cheek. For all the kisses they’ve shared, this is his first, his  _ true _ first. Every other one has been a sin, been wrong, but this one feels so right, like sweet redemption. It’s chaste and soft and sweet and makes sickly sanguinity blossom in his belly.

Ignis slowly crawls up onto the bed and over him. Smiling down softly at him, the dancer caresses Ravus’ jaw with delicate fingers before retracing their path with his lips. Trembling at every dart of the tongue lapping at his sweat-soaked skin, Ravus encloses Ignis’ clothed hips with his hands. Teeth sink into the pale column of his neck and lips close around the entrapped flesh. It’s so good,  _ too  _ good, Ravus can already feel blood flowing to his cock, bringing it to rise between his bruised thighs.

“Ignis, please,” Ravus murmurs, his voice hoarse from strangled sobs, as he takes fistfuls of his partner’s shirt in his hands. “Please.”

“I’m here, darling,” Ignis replies softly, rising to his knees to unbutton his shirt. Ravus watches with wide eyes as inch by inch, the dancer exposes his almond skin to the open air. It glistens as it catches the light, dancing with the shine of infinitesimal diamonds littering his body. It’s the glitter from the club, Ravus realizes. Ignis’ naked body not an unfamiliar sight - Ravus can note each mole, each mark, each freckle like a city on a map - but here, in this room, alone, Ignis is an entirely new person. His master, his friend, his lover, one who understands Ravus and his fallacies better than anyone else. Better than God himself.

Ignis wastes no time divesting himself of every bit of clothing, save for the silver skull that dangles delicately in the notch of his clavicle. His hips frame Ravus’ own and his erection hangs heavy between his legs as he looks down at Ravus with a smile. “You like what you see? You’ve seen it before.”

“Not like this,” Ravus hisses, though his blush states otherwise.

“Touch me,” Ignis whispers. “I want to watch. Your face. Your hands on my body. Give it to me, Ravus. Give me what I want.”

“Ignis-”

“ _ Please _ .”

Ravus sits up, bringing himself that much closer to the naked man before him, raising his hands to hover over his body. Taking Ravus’ hands in his, Ignis guides him, sliding Ravus’ palms up his hips, guiding his thumbs over the prominent plateaus of his pelvic bone, skating over his abdominals. Enraptured, Ravus cannot stop, slipping his hands out of Ignis’ so he can better explore the planes of Ignis body at his own pace and for his own pleasure. Every inch of Ignisis soft, every scar is perfect and pristine. 

Moving to kneel, to better worship the supple body and the warm soul before him in reverence of the absolution and divinity Ignis has given him, Ravus kisses his stomach, his chest, his neck, making his way up until he can kiss him on the jaw and lips again. Ignis responds enthusiastically, taking Ravus’ face in his hands and parting his lips to tease with his tongue. Ravus almost crumples at that, at the wet, hot muscle poking and begging for an invitation that he gives freely.

“Tell me what you want,” Ignis pants as he breaks their fervent kiss. “Whatever you desire, I shall give it to you.”

Swallowing thickly, Ravus dares to pull away, to search the wanton lust that’s embedded in a shroud of emeralds. “I want you,” he whispers. “All of you. I want to feel you.”

Smiling, Ignis replies, “Good. I want the same.” He kisses him, tenderly, before whispering in Ravus’ ear, “I want you to come undone for me. I want to put you back together, a new man, one that’s mine.”

Ravus smiles self-consciously at his words, wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him close. He dives into the crook of his neck, nosing at a beauty mark, pressing his lips to the pretty almond skin and sucking. Ignis’ reaction only drives him deeper into lust, the way his cock throbs against Ravus’ pelvis and his fingernails sink into Ravus’ skin.

A cry ripples from his throat when Ignis adjusts his position, pressing his hot, silky erection against his own and rutting his hips into him. The dancer holds him tightly, rocking his hips, drawing sound after sound from him as he rubs their members together, their sweat-addled skin sticking and pulling in the most delectable ways. 

It’s too much, almost, to be touched this way for the first time. Ravus has never imagined being on the receiving end of such contact, always thinking he would be subservient in both worship and attrition. He’s beginning to believe that Ignis was serious about taking him apart; already, he can feel himself beginning to fragment under the duress of pleasure and lust, of salty skin and insistent teeth.

“Lie back and bend your knees for me,” Ignis murmurs against his swollen lips, his skin gently sticking to Ravus’ as he pulls away and crawls over to the trunk at the foot of the bed. Ravus obeys, of course, bending at the knee until his ankles touch his haunches, spreading himself wide for his lover. Ignis searches inside for a moment before drawing a condom and lubricant from its depths. Just seeing those items, those tools, draws a sharp breath from Ravus’ lungs.

“Excited, darling? Me too,” Ignis says with a smile. “I want to take you.”

“I’ve never- It’s my-” Ravus doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s made that choice, time and time again, to preserve himself for so long. He feels weak knowing he’s never partaken in the pleasures of the flesh; he’s also well-aware of the fact that Ignis is a connoisseur, that he knows how best to take that pleasure and how to give it.

“Then let me be your first,” Ignis murmurs, leaning over to kiss him and taking Ravus’ lower lip between his teeth. He pulls away, dragging his teeth along its swollen skin, before letting go. “I can’t wait to hear you. To feel you.”

“Be gentle,” Ravus says with gritted teeth as Ignis’ fingers ghost over his entrance.

“But of course, darling. I want you to never forget this, to never forget how I feel inside you.”

There’s an apprehension growing in his gut as Ravus watches Ignis drizzle lubricant over his fingers and rub them together tantalizingly, spreading and warming the viscous fluid. Gently grasping one of Ravus’ knees, Ignis pushes it flat to his chest as he bends over to kiss him. “Relax for me, Ravus,” Ignis whispers, as a warm, wet finger draws circles around his clenched muscles. “Take a deep breath. Enjoy it.”

Ravus tilts his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes and grabbing fistfuls of Ignis’ bedsheets as the finger circling his hole gently prods its way inside. The sensation is alien and new. As much as Ravus wants to fight it, to resist, Ignis drinks his instincts from him with every hungry kiss and every caress of the velvet skin of his cock. He can hardly complain as he melts under Ignis’ ministrations, becoming pliant to his every whim. It’s almost an act of service, submitting himself to Ignis’ whims, allowing himself to devour every ounce of pleasure his lover bestows upon him.

Another finger slips inside and the two begin to work in tandem, stretching and pulling and fighting the draw of his entrance, its desire to pucker shut around Ignis’ digits. “You’re doing so well,” Ignis purrs as he looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “You were so good for me, taking your punishment, I can only hope you behave as well when you receive your reward.”

Ravus turns his head to glower at the wall as Ignis laughs. “You don’t appreciate the praise?”

“No,” Ravus answers curtly.

“If you won’t let me praise you with my words, perhaps my cock will suffice,” Ignis replies, his voice dark and sultry, as he removes his fingers from Ravus’ entrance. He squirms- this sensation is even stranger than being entered - as his muscles spasm with want for Ignis, for his warm, luscious fingers and gentle touches.

Ignis lies back on the bed as he tears open the foil packet and rolled the condom over his length. Ravus watches as he applies more lubricant, giving himself a few, short strokes. Tilting his head back, Ignis arches into the mattress as he touches himself, smiling at Ravus. “Come here and ride me,” he commands.

Ravus feels awkward as he straddles the smaller man, his height allowing him to tower over him. Ignis’ flushed cheeks and swollen lips, along with his halo of messy, tawny locks, give him a look of pure bliss. Ignis sets his hands on Ravus’ hips, guiding him down to spear his hole on his girth.

“Slowly, now,” Ignis murmurs, watching his cock enter Ravus with interest. “Yes,” he panted. “You feel utterly divine.”

Ravus can only moan Ignis’ name as he sinks down on his length. He fills him so much more fully than he ever imagined; he thinks he may split open on him, exposing all of himself for Ignis to see. Though he remains intact and whole, it’s as if Ignis’ entry in his body has ripped him wide open, leaving all of his hurts, his wants, his desires stinging in the open air. Ignis can see all of him, there is no more hiding, no more hurt; only the feeling of Ignis buried deep inside him. 

His head drops forward, his chin dipping against his sternum, as Ravus breathes in deeply. Exhaling slowly, he drops even lower onto Ignis’ cock until he can feel his pelvis resting flat against his thighs. Ravus cries out, fingernails leaving little half-moons in almond skin, as he gently rocks his hips, moving Ignis’ cock inside him.

“Gods, Ravus, do that again,” Ignis groans, thrusting up into Ravus’ warm, tight heat. He can hardly obey him, though, for each time he grinds his body into Ignis’, there’s a little burst of pleasure. A sweet little spot, buried deep inside of him, just begging to be teased, is assaulted by the underside of Ignis’ cock with every movement.

“Fuck,” Ravus swears, his chest heaving, as he lifts himself up and drops down onto Ignis. The man beneath him has clamped his hands down on ivory hips so tightly Ravus can feel little ellipses of purple beginning to form beneath his fingertips. The pain, combined with the sweet halo of pleasure surrounding it, is almost too much.

“Ignis -”

“Sing for me, darling,” Ignis says, rocking his hips up into Ravus’ body. He moans as Ignis spears him with his cock again and again, filling the room with the sound of skin colliding, of breaths heaving, of sinful, pleasured moans and gasps. Rolling them over, Ignis quickly slots between Ravus’ thighs and presses for entry yet again, filling him and diving deeper than he had when Ravus rode him.

It’s with a strangled sob that Ravus comes, his untouched cock spilling forth, painting his stomach with release. Pleasure radiates through him with every heartbeat, filling every empty cavern of his brain he’s held in reverent reservation. Every cascade echoes through him, each exploding like a sonic boom before fading away until he’s left with nothing but a pool of sweat and trembling, unadulterated bliss. 

Ignis must have come at some point, too; he’s already left Ravus’ body and is removing the condom to toss in the trash at the other end of the room. Ravus sighs heavily, his mind still reeling from the aftershocks of pleasure as his lover returns to him, cleaning him gently with a warm, damp cloth before drawing him close in an embrace.

He didn’t think it possible, but a little worm of anxiety creeps into his brain as Ignis cradles him, back to front, slotting against his body perfectly, as if they’d been carved from the same bone. It’s there, though, defying the odds, reminding him of all he’d preserved and held precious for a decade and more… and how he’s given it all up in a night.

Stroking his hand over Ravus’ torso, Ignis murmurs, “Something is eating at you. I can tell by the way you tense when I touch you.”

Ravus sighs. “Letting go is not as easy as one would hope.”

“It’s not,” Ignis agrees. “The task is rather difficult. But you are stubborn, Ravus. Should you choose to let go, to wander a new path, you’ll find your way. I have no doubt.”

“Thank you,” Ravus murmurs, leaning back against Ignis, relishing the heat of his skin against his own. Perhaps this would be something he could grow accustomed to, if Ignis allows it. “For everything.”

“Anything for my favorite customer,” Ignis coos.

“Awful,” Ravus hisses, though he smiles.

“I can hear it in your voice already. There’s peace.”

“There is.”

“Good.”

It’s then that Ravus drifts off to dreams of heated bliss and emerald eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> it's DONE!! Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
